"Don't be startled, Mr. Powell," she said, in her clear, sweet tones. "It is I--Minnie Bodkin. I thought I should like to see you, and to say a few words to you, quietly." Powell advanced, and took her outstretched hand reverently in his hand. "The blessing of our Father in Heaven be on you, lady," he said. "Your kind face is very welcome to me." CHAPTER XV. Mrs. Thimbleby set a cup full of hot tea and a slice of bread on the table, and glided out of the kitchen in a humble, noiseless way, as if she feared lest the mere sound of her footsteps should be deemed importunate. "You have something to say to me?" asked Powell, still standing opposite to Minnie's chair. "Yes; but first you must take some food. Please to sit down there at the table." Powell shook his head. "Food disgusts me," he said. "I do not need it." "That will pain your kind landlady," said Minnie, gently. "She has been so careful to get this refreshment ready for you." Powell sat down. "I would not pain the good soul for any earthly consideration," he answered. "But if the burthen be laid on me, I must pain her." "Come, Mr. Powell, no injunction can be laid on you to starve yourself, and grow ill, and be unable to fulfil your duties!" After an instant's hesitation he swallowed some tea, and began to break off small fragments of the bread, which he soaked in the liquid, and ate slowly. Minnie watched him attentively. The widow had lighted a candle, which, standing on the high mantel-shelf, shed down its pale rays on the preacher's head and face, the rest of his person being in shadow. Now and again, as he lifted a morsel of bread to his lips, one thin long hand, yellow-white as old ivory, came within the circle of light. His whole countenance appeared to Minnie to have undergone a change since she had seen him last. The features were sharper, the skin more sallow, the lines around the mouth deeper. But the greatest change was in the expression of the eyes. They were wonderfully lustrous, but not with the soft mild lustre which formerly shone in them. They looked startlingly large and prominent; and at times seemed literally to blaze with an inward fire. "He is ill and feverish," thought Minnie. And then, as she continued to watch him, there came over his face an expression so infinitely piteous, that the sympathetic tears sprang into her eyes when she saw it. It was a pathetic, questioning, bewildered look, like that of a little child that has lost its way, and is frightened. When he had eaten a few mouthfuls, he asked, "Who told you that you would find me here?" "Oh, it was not difficult to discover your whereabouts in Whitford, Mr. Powell," answered Minnie, smiling with an effort to seem cheerful and at ease. "Your coming has been spoken of in our little town for weeks past." "Has it so? Has it so? That is a good hearing. There must be souls ripe for conviction--anxious, inquiring souls."